


Punishment

by macabreflorence



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Handcuffs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabreflorence/pseuds/macabreflorence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is a punishment,” Mark growls. “Punishment for you jeopardizing Facebook. Do you understand?”<br/>Eduardo finds himself at loss for words, and whimpers again instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punishment

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this fic is almost two years old by now! Originally posted on LJ @ zombiepoetry. Written for [this](http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/3654.html?thread=3894086#t3894086) prompt at tsn_kinkmeme.

Eduardo hates that stupid chicken. He doesn't like birds anyway, they have creeped him out ever since he watched that Hitchcock film when he was twelve, and now one of those feathered bastards has led him and his company in trouble. This is out in the public, he realizes, and never even notices the words spilling from his mouth, doesn't later remember any of his panicked blabbering. His thoughts feel like they're moving in the speed of light, there's too much to think at once and fuck, this can't be happening.

”For all I know, it was the Winklevosses,” he exclaims and points his finger, hand trembling.  
There's a hysterical edge to his voice that makes Mark's relatively calm appearance stand out. After a few moments, during which Eduardo might have mentioned necrophilia, Mark turns back to his beloved computer, throwing the Crimson away. But Eduardo keeps on talking, his thoughts reaching his father and the consequences and oh God, he's screwed, what will people _say_ , fuck the Winklevosses, fuck that chicken, is he going to jail, dear Lord, this sucks, what will this do to Facebook, what if--

He can distinctly hear Mark's neutral voice talking to Dustin, but can't understand the words. However, Dustin gets up and walks a little reluctantly out of the room, leaving the two of them alone. Eduardo keeps on talking, not paying attention to his own gibbering, letting out everything that comes to his mind. Because he'll have to explain this, he'll have to deal with this, and the thought frightens him more than anything else.

And then Mark suddenly walks up to him and presses his hand flat against Eduardo's chest, pushing the older one on his back. That finally makes Eduardo's words come to a halt in his throat, and instead he fixes his eyes on Mark, trying to find out what is going on.

There are no clues on Mark's face. He climbs gracelessly on top of Eduardo, and before the latter can do anything but move his hands, pins the tanned wrists against the mattress with a surprisingly tight grip. Mark isn't smiling or grimacing. He doesn't look exactly angry either. His eyes are cold, emotionless, and that look sends shivers down Eduardo's spine. He's not sure if he should be scared or aroused, and then he remembers that this is Mark, and tries to attempt a smile.

”M-Mark,” he says shakily, ”what are you d-”  
”Quiet.”  
It's strange, because Eduardo can still recognize Mark's own voice, can still distinguish the familiar sound, but something is entirely different. Mark's voice is low and dangerous, strained with cold emotion. Strong and piercing, even though it's almost a whisper, meant exclusively for his best friend.  
Eduardo shivers again, his mouth closing unconsciously.

”Do you have any idea-” Mark's left hand starts to trace meaningless, teasing patterns on the inside of Eduardo's wrist, ”-what this means to Facebook?”  
Of course he does. He nods and bites his lower lip, Mark's touch moving down to his arm.  
”What do you think people will say-” the touch moves slowly to Eduardo's chest and fuck, he can feel himself growing hard and it's embarrassing, but something in Mark's calm control turns him on, ”-when they hear our CFO tortures birds?”  
”I didn't-” Eduardo protests in vain, and his sentence ends with a strangled moan as Mark's fingers suddenly scratch his chest sharply, wordlessly telling him to shut up.  
”People are going to talk, Wardo,” Mark hisses. ”You have caused us trouble. You have caused _Facebook_ trouble.”  
”I'm sorry,” Eduardo whispers quietly, not trusting enough on his own voice.  
”I didn't catch that,” Mark breathes. ”Say it _aloud_.”

And there's the scratch on Eduardo's chest again, going lower and lower, and he has to close his eyes to shut out the feeling of Mark's eyes burning him.

”I'm sorry!” he tries to say, words turning into a moan. Mark's hand is on his stomach, going lower and lower, light touch torturing.  
”Sorry for what, Wardo?” Mark asks, like he doesn't know, and his touch goes even lower. Eduardo shivers and stifles a whimper, twitching a little under his friend.  
”I-I'm sorry for- for- _ahh, Mark_!”  
Mark's touch has reached Eduardo's crotch, pressing down intently for a few seconds, and then disappearing again. The latter lifts his hips without realizing it and, out of spite, grabs Mark's wrist with his free hand, trying to push it back where it belongs.

The younger man pulls his hand away and glares at his friend before clicking his tongue. Eduardo swallows, hand falling back to the bed. The look in Mark's eyes is so terrifying and promising at the same time, Wardo doesn't know what to feel.

”Looks like you can't behave,” Mark says slowly, and gets up from the bed. Eduardo closes his eyes and tries to catch his breath.  
He can hear Mark taking a few steps and then, judging by the sounds, opening a drawer. He doesn't think any of it until Mark's weight is suddenly back on the bed, so close to Eduardo's body it's frustrating. The latter feels Mark grabbing his wrists again and opens his eyes, only to see his friend's cold eyes and sense cool metal closing around his wrists.

Handcuffs.

Eduardo gasps at the sheer thought. This is _Mark_ , for God's sake, Mark fucking Zuckerberg, a socially awkward,  
emotionally restrained nerd, and even though Eduardo loves him, loves him more than he can probably ever imagine, this is insane. Mark is the last person walking on Earth to own a pair of real handcuffs. And yet, there they are, pressing against Eduardo's sensitive skin, making him flinch a little, his eyes going wide.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Mark is on him again, his eyes still cold as ice, a great contrast to the way Eduardo burns inside. He twists under Mark, tries to get his friend touch all the right places, but it doesn't take him long to realize he's lost his control. It's all up to Mark now, and he doesn't seem nearly as eager to fulfill Wardo's wishes. The younger man does unbutton Eduardo's shirt agonizingly slowly, though, and makes sure to scratch the soft skin of his chest during the process.

“Do you know why I'm doing this?” Mark suddenly asks, and Eduardo whimpers – he had already forgotten the way Mark's low voice causes tremors run down his spine. It's like a dangerous, edgy purr, mouthed against Eduardo's ribs.  
“N-no,” the latter answers, though it's not entirely true. He's just way too occupied with keeping his growing arousal and heartbeat in control to think of a proper answer. He knows it was a wrong choice (or maybe the best?) when Mark bites him, right under his left nipple, all teeth and raw control, making him moan shakily.  
“This is a _punishment_ ,” Mark growls. “Punishment for you jeopardizing Facebook. Do you understand?”  
Eduardo finds himself at loss for words, and whimpers again instead.  
“ _Do you_?”  
And suddenly Mark's teeth are on his earlobe, so close, voice so audible Eduardo thinks his heart might come pounding out of his chest.  
“ _Yes_ ”, he manages to gasp, and Mark chuckles.  
That shouldn't turn Eduardo on nearly as much as it does.

Then Mark's all over him, tracing his skin, any hint of affection or tenderness long gone. There are teeth and lips and tongue, leaving visible marks that will certainly be there for days, reminding Eduardo of this moment. Mark moves lower and lower, and Eduardo's body complies, but his mind has a bad feeling about the coder's intentions. He won't give in so easily.

Yet Eduardo can't stifle a groan as Mark reaches the line of his pants. He bucks his hips, but it has no effect. Mark licks the sensitive skin of Wardo's stomach and then blows cool air on it, making his friend shiver. He's about to talk, Eduardo can tell, not surprised when he parts his lips and phrases words.

“Someone's going to have to answer this,” he says. “You're going to solve this. On. Your. _Own_.”  
The familiar, cold feeling sinks in Eduardo's stomach, the panic starting to come back gradually. Mark probably notices this, because he distracts Eduardo's train of thought with a firm press on his clothed crotch.  
“B-But it wasn't my fault,” Eduardo breathes sharply, protests, knowing it's pointless.  
“ _Eduardo Saverin, co-founder of Facebook, is being accused of animal cruelty_ ,” Mark repeats the words written on Crimson, dragging his nails along Wardo's stomach and grazing the zip of his pants with his fingers, “ _Saverin has been said to torture a chicken given to him as a part of the Phoenix S. K. Club initiations_...”  
Mark doesn't finish the sentence, and finally opens Eduardo's zip and belt, yanking his pants and boxers down with determination.  
“Y-You know those things aren't true,” Eduardo continues his objection, voice trembling. “It was the Winklevosses, Mark, I don't torture chickens-”  
“It doesn't _matter_ if you tortured that bird or not,” Mark hisses, “because it's already out in the public. What I know doesn't matter, what people _think_ does. You're going to solve this mess and apologize. Am I clear?”  
“But it wasn't-”

That's the moment Mark chooses to wrap his lips around Eduardo's cock.

Whatever Eduardo was about to say disappears from his mind. It goes blank, and all he can do is arch his back and bite his lip to silence his long moan. He pulls his hands, wants to grab Mark's hair and tangle his fingers in the sandy locks, but the handcuffs keep his wrists tightly in place. Mark's wet lips trace the sensitive skin, and when his tongue peeks out to run along the head of Eduardo's manhood, the latter loses his ability to speak or control the noises coming out of his mouth. He didn't know he was this hard, and now reality strikes back to him with force.

It's like Mark takes every little skill he has learned in the past with Eduardo and uses them against him. He licks his friend's cock from base to the tip, finds every single pleasurable spot and makes sure to give them just the torturing amount of attention. If it was possible, Eduardo would have put his fist in his own mouth to muffle the noises, but now has to settle for biting his lower lip and tongue, almost drawing blood.

“Shh,” Mark shushes him, the curve of his smile pressing against Eduardo. “Someone's going to think you're dying.”  
And God, how much Eduardo wants to just smack his head (or shut him up with a kiss), but those options aren't available. He settles for growling, voice much more warning than before, and sighs with content when Mark gets back to work. But this time, instead of just teasing with his lips and tongue, the coder suddenly takes Eduardo in his mouth, swallows as much of him as he can.

If it all had felt good before, now it is simply amazing. Eduardo can notice Mark's slight inexperience from the little things – his teeth scrape Wardo's skin a little too hard, he has to pull back once or twice so he won't choke and so on – but it doesn't matter. Mark Zuckerberg is going down on him, and all Eduardo can do is writhe on the bed and buck his hips, now unable to stop his moans.

Then there are fingers.

They have done this before, on shady nights and lazy mornings, but it takes Wardo by surprise when he feels fingers trace their way down his cock, to his balls, and even lower. He breathes sharply as he feels a wet finger push slowly into him, fighting against the tight ring of muscle. It stings, but at the same time brings back a familiar feeling that pools in the pit of his stomach. The finger opens him with a burning stretch, and is soon followed by another one. They scissor him rather gently while Mark takes Wardo deeper in his throat, _humming_.

And then it happens, the pooling feeling inside Eduardo knots and twists and he can feel tremors going through his body and oh God, too much, so much and he wants it all, he arches his back and closes his eyes and isn't sure if he said Mark's name or was it just a long moan and-

Mark stops.

Eduardo flinches and jerks, opening his eyes and looking down at his friend in shock. His cock is throbbing, precum leaking over its head, and he was so _close_ he can still feel it in the edge of his breath. He's panting, and Mark's fingers have disappeared. Now the younger man is just looking at him, cold and mischievous.  
“You're not going to come before I tell you to,” Mark hisses. “Not one second before, not one second after.”  
Eduardo swallows. There's a lump of frustration stuck in his throat.

And Mark's hovering over him, all teeth and tongue and hot, moist whispers, licking and sucking and biting, making sure not to touch Eduardo's cock, the part of him that's craving for attention. It's dizzying, and all Wardo can do is twitch and moan, shift eagerly and hope that his best friend will soon forgive him. He himself has forgotten everything about the chicken and Winklevosses and Facebook, and now there's only the erratic desire. Only Mark. Mark, who is certainly not supposed to be like _this_ , calm and controlling and actually knowing what he's doing when it's not posted on a computer screen, not presented in long, endless strings of code. It's confusing, dreadfully new and exciting, and where the hell did Mark learn to do that with his tongue?

After a while, when Mark apparently decides Eduardo's calmed down enough, the coder lets his fingers trace their way back down, curling around Eduardo's pulsing manhood while pressing the thumb of his other hand against the CFO's entrance. Eduardo shivers, tries to push his hips against the touch, but Mark firmly sets his own pace, smearing the precum with his fingers, forcing his friend to release deep noises from his throat.

It begins all over again. Mark pushes one finger in, then two, even three, making Eduardo count them with a trembling voice, bursting into raw curses in Portuguese in the end – it hurts, it really does, but at the same time gives hints of blinding pleasure. This time the coder doesn't replace his fingers around Eduardo's cock with his mouth, but it doesn't matter, because he's opening Eduardo more with every movement, pushing him towards the edge, making him work for it with an irregular buck of his hips. And Eduardo can feel his senses and rationality slipping away, hazy desire and hotness and sheer want sliding in their place without a sound.

He loses the track of time, orgasm flooding closer and closer, his sounds getting louder, muscles trembling, a sheen of sweat rising on his skin, his back arching and legs trashing. He tries to pull hs hands: he wants to touch, wants to feel Mark, wants it so badly, but the handcuffs stop him everytime, leaving him desperate and hard.

Eduardo's last control fades completely when Mark hits the spot inside him, the spot that almost makes him scream. And he hits it again and again, and it's too much and Eduardo isn't sure if the noises he hears come from him or someone else, and he's coming, and he can feel it everywhere from head to toe, and-

Mark can't stop, he can't fucking stop. Not again. But he does, and this time Eduardo actually screams out of frustration, desperation, anger and first of all, need. He tries to jump up, but the handcuffs prevent him. He thinks he's going to cry, just because it's so unfair, but he's a man of pride. He settles for glaring at Mark, about to open his mouth and tell just what he thinks about his friend's methods.

Mark speaks first, because he's Mark and has the ability of shutting Eduardo up with one move.

“Don't give me that look,” he huffs, and to prove his point flicks his wrist against Eduardo's sensitive cock, making the man whimper and buck his hips.  
“M-Mark-”  
His anger is gone.  
“What is it, Wardo?” the coder asks, seemingly collected.  
“You- I want you to-”  
“What do you want me to do?”  
“You- please-”  
“I can't do anything if you don't tell me, Wardo.”  
“F-Fuck me. Please. Let me come.”  
And there's a satisfied, cold smirk on Mark's face, one that makes Eduardo shiver.  
“But this is a punishment, Wardo. You have to say the magic words.”  
“The- The what?”  
“The words, Wardo.”

And Eduardo understands, but he's incoherent and blabbering and wants Mark inside him _now_ and Mark's hand is certainly not helping with the thought process, slowly driving him to madness with the slow strokes around his cock.

“I-I'm sorry,” he sighs quietly, giving in. Because he's Eduardo and he always does. And it doesn't matter that he's said it already, that he's apologized, because this is Mark.  
“What was that? I can't hear you,” the younger man frowns, like he doesn't know.  
“I'm sorry, Mark,” Eduardo gasps, “I'm sorry for the trouble.”

There's a clang of metal as the handcuffs are opened, and with one motion Mark is inside him. Whenthe coder had the time to take his pants off, Eduardo doesn't know, but neither does he really care. There's the rough, painful burn of stretch, the feeling of being filled in places people normally shouldn't, and then there's the bliss. Eduardo immediately grabs Mark's curly hair with his hands, running them on his skin and finally settling them on his hips so that he can control the frantic thrusts, make sure Mark stays close.

Mark must have been awfully turned on, too, considering the way he pounds Eduardo against the mattress, cursing and gasping helplessly. The cold Mark has disappeared, his control has vanished, but Eduardo doesn't give a damn. Instead he gives a soundless scream as Mark hits the spot he found earlier once, twice, again and again, and this time doesn't stop. Eduardo comes quickly, scratching Mark's hips and back, probably marking them for a good two weeks. The feeling knots in his stomach, and he clenches impossibly around Mark, emptying himself with a sharp cry.

Mark follows him soon, moaning in Eduardo's neck and grasping his hips with strong fingers, mouthing words Eduardo doesn't understand.

For a moment they just stay there, breathing with ragged pants, bodies entangled together. Eduardo is the first one to move, just like always: he kisses Mark's temple and laughs low from his throat, pushing his weight off him.  
“That was unexpected,” he says, laughter bubbling somewhere in his lungs. “Handcuffs, Mark? Seriously?”  
“Dustin gave them to me,” Mark shrugs. “Said I should prove my dominance to you or whatever.”  
“Well, you succeeded,” Eduardo grins and then grimaces, his expressions open. “My ass is going to hurt for days. I didn't know you could be that cruel.”  
“Watched some of Dustin's porn,” Mark says with great indifference. “You're going to still explain the chicken thing, you know. You're not safe yet.”  
“Wouldn't dream of it,” Eduardo promises and kisses Mark, shutting him up for the rest of the evening.


End file.
